


On the Traditions of the Dol-Intiqua

by Hanatamago



Category: Den lengste reisen | The Longest Journey
Genre: Alcohol, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon kind of (pre-Civil War), Resolved Pining, Spoilers for the ending of Dreamfall Chapters, first-time drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 16:34:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30075105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanatamago/pseuds/Hanatamago
Summary: “It’s not as bad as you think,” Likho said, only elaborating when Kian shot a questioning look over his shoulder, “The drunkenness. Some find it enjoyable.”“Some find ittooenjoyable…” Kian muttered, “Goddess, what is it about fermented grains that makes people so mad?”It made men foolish. Reckless. Kian didn’t see the point.“Perhaps tonight you’ll find out.” Likho snorted. “And most people don’t go mad. There are different types of drunks.”Kian drinks for the sake of diplomacy, and he learns just why harvest festivals tend to get so rowdy.
Relationships: Kian Alvane/Likho
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	On the Traditions of the Dol-Intiqua

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Spocksandshoes, for blazing a path for all two dozen of us Likho/Kian shippers to follow along :)

“I don’t drink,” Kian said flatly.

“I don’t care,” Likho shrugged, leaning against the inn room’s plain wooden wall by the door, “You will tonight.”

Kian sighed. There was little use arguing at this point. And, for what it was worth, Likho _had_ warned him. It was the end of the harvest season. The Dol-Intiqua would celebrate just as most Arcadians did: with drinks, games, and unscheduled drunken brawling. Even before they had arrived at the settlement, Likho had prepared him for what awaited them here. The Dol-Intiqua were a proud people. They had a strong will to fight and an even stronger will to carouse.

Although Kian could see the appeal of the celebrations, he did not see the appeal of drinking to excess. And if the Reapmoon celebrations in Marcuria were anything to go by, then celebrating and drinking were to be taken hand in hand, or not at all. If he abstained from drink, it would be seen as a slight even if he meant no offense. Kian certainly did not mean to offend. They had not traveled by foot for months just for Kian to cripple their negotiations with his lack of social grace. In truth, neither he nor Likho were exactly skilled in diplomacy, but then, who else could represent the Azadi resistance? Enu had her hands full with rebuilding Marcuria, and Saga was constantly away on one cosmic quest or another. Every other skilled negotiator was dead or on the other side of the Divide.

They would simply have to make do. They needed assistance from the Dol-Intiqua clan to have any hope of standing against Sadir. Of the defected Azadi soldiers, half had stayed in Marcuria to assist with the rebuilding, and the other half trained and lie in wait while he and Likho attempted to secure reinforcements. They could not siege Sadir without more men and more resources. Clever as Kian had been with their limited troops, they simply did not have the force to make such revolutionary demands. But with Dolmari reinforcements - with _magic_ \- the tide may turn. It would be an ugly, complicated, drawn-out war, but they would have a chance.

So, Kian and Likho traveled west. Alone. It was faster that way, and they could travel mostly unseen by Azadi loyalists. The Dol-Intiqua settlement was not quite what Kian expected. A mix of flimsy tents and stone brick buildings filled the narrow streets. The town had not been established for long, but its denizens had clearly broken it in quickly. Small subsistence farms stretched out across the dry land. Golden sparks floated over the farmland, infusing it with magic where the natural earth was unwilling to provide its own nurturing life. In the night, glowing lanterns cast the streets in blue light, and the air filled with fireflies and sweet smoke from tents in the marketplace.

Though the townsfolk ranged from distrustful to openly hostile to Kian, the settlement had shown him and Likho great hospitality. The clan’s elders had waved aside the costs for their rooms at the town’s small inn for the duration of their diplomatic mission. The inn’s accommodations were modest, but after so many months on the road, the straw mattresses and warm baths felt like nothing short of divine blessings sent by the Goddess.

On the road, Likho and Kian always slept in shifts - one watching for danger while the other rested. It was a necessity of traveling in such small numbers, and it meant many weeks of poor sleep during travel. But it had been worth it to move quickly through the western lands. Admittedly, they had stopped often along the way to assist those they came across. Their mission was important, but not more important than the lives of struggling Ge’en survivors trying to build their homes in a new land. It may have compromised their stealth at times, but Likho was vigilant enough for the both of them. He could not have asked for a better traveling companion.

“It’s not as bad as you think,” Likho said, only elaborating when Kian shot a questioning look over his shoulder, “The drunkenness. Some find it enjoyable.”

“Some find it _too_ enjoyable…” Kian muttered, “Goddess, what is it about fermented grains that makes people so mad?”

Kian sucked in a long, patient breath. It was important to the mission. He knew it was important to the mission. As an Apostle, it had been easy to refuse alcohol. The teachings of the Goddess did not forbid it exactly, but one in his position was expected to be clear-headed above all else. That meant abstaining from many things - wine, rowdy celebration, and more… carnal affairs. While his time with the resistance had helped him to become laxer about such things, he simply had no desire to partake in drinking.

It made men foolish. Reckless. Kian didn’t see the point.

“Perhaps tonight you’ll find out.” Likho snorted. “And most people don’t go mad. There are different types of drunks.”

“Brash, loud, and violent?”

“No. There are happy drunks, like Enu. Flirtatious. Outgoing. Sad.”

“You know, I’ve never seen you drunk, Likho,” Kian said. What sort of drink would Likho even be? Sad? No, no, even bewitched by alcohol, he could not imagine Likho sharing such emotions. Happy, certainly not. Kian wasn’t sure if he could picture Likho acting jubilant in any way shape or form, at least, not past his quiet tongue-in-cheek side remarks. Likho flirting was also decidedly out of the question. Perhaps if he got nothing else out of the night, he would still see learn something about Likho.

“Defending Marcuria against your people didn’t leave much time for relaxation,” Likho grunted, “I had to stay alert.”

“Then you understand me.”

“I do. But it’s just one night. Neither of us has to keep watch.”

“Surely there’s some other way,” he insisted. “Would anyone really notice if my tankard was filled with water instead?”

“It would be worse for them to notice your deceit. Just drink.”

“I… Ugh - Shadow...” Kian fumbled to voice his protests. 

“Kian. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Kian’s mouth went dry. What was he really so afraid of? It was not the Goddess’s judgement. His cause was righteous, and abstaining from vice as an Apostle had not made him infallible. It was not the taste, exactly, nor next-day nausea. But if he drank, he wouldn’t be alert. His tongue would fall numb in his mouth, and he could say or do any manner of things to offend the Dol-Intiqua people. He could fail.

“What if something goes wrong?” he murmured.

“Wrong how?”

“If I offend them... If I say something thoughtless, or if I cannot stomach their wicked potions and I make a fool of myself.”

“Potions?” Likho chuckled. “Dolmari ale is far less potent than the veil you drank.”

“But-”

“You’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Won’t you also be drunk?” Kian protested.

“Perhaps eventually. It takes more than a few tankards of ale to dull my senses.”

“Still-” Kian started.

“Relax,” the Dolmari said. Strong, gentle arms wrapped around Kian’s waist, embracing him from behind. Kian let out the breath he had been holding, sinking into Likho’s arms. The physical contact was… odd. Not bad, but still unfamiliar. Neither of them had been much for such gestures - Likho, with his prickly exterior and refusal to show any softness whatsoever, and Kian, with his suffocating formalities and divine isolation - but they were trying it. 

They were both terrible at communicating their feelings, but supposedly, actions were meant to be easier than words (and they _had_ tried to work on their words, however foolishly idealistic that was). It was Enu’s suggestion, therefore it would be Enu’s fault when Kian would completely flounder in his negotiations tomorrow because he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Likho’s Shadow-damned arms felt wrapped around his body.

Kian had no idea if it made them any better communicators, but it did make it significantly harder to hide his true affections for the Dolmari. One of these days, Likho would feel the way Kian’s heart sped up under his touch. Or he would notice how Kian’s words seemed to turn to mush when Likho got too close. Or he would notice Kian’s gaze clinging to his toned shoulder muscles when he donned and doffed his armor.

It was only a matter of time before Likho found out. Kian did not think he would be offended exactly, but there was no way Likho would return his feelings, either. Their history was stained eternally in blood. Likho may have revoked his oath to take Kian’s life, and he may have respected Kian as a brother in arms, but no man could ever feel love for the one who had slain his kin.

So, Kian satisfied himself with Likho’s feeling-communicating hugs. They were a pale substitute for mutual affection, but he was not a greedy man. It helped. Traveling together was enough, Kian would insist to himself. Fighting together was enough. It was more than he deserved.

“I have trusted you with my life since Ge’en, Kian,” Likho said quietly. His soft words cascaded down Kian’s neck, turning his skin to gooseflesh. “Can you not trust me with your well being for one night?” 

Likho’s voice was not exactly ‘comforting’ in a traditional sense. A harsh growl always lay just beneath his words - which affected Kian in an entirely _different_ way - but Kian knew Likho’s tones well by now, and this was as close to ‘comforting’ as he would ever get. 

“Seeing that you have phrased your request in a way that I could not possibly refuse…” Kian grumbled, “Yes. Fine.” Despite his snark, he was almost shamefully easily mollified by Likho’s comforting touch. “And I _do_ trust you. With my life, not just an evening without my sobriety.”

“Good,” Likho said, pleased.

A faint warmth bloomed in Kian’s chest at the Dolmari’s approval. But all too soon, Likho pulled away, leaving only the prickling shadow of his touch on Kian’s arms.

“Meet back here before the festivities,” Likho grunted, issuing the order as though he’d drawn up battle plans. Perhaps he had. Kian would not put it past him. “I’m going to wash some of this travel dust from my skin.”

“Yes, I...” Kian said absently, still distracted by the lingering warmth of his embrace. “I should do the same.”

* * *

“Gah, this tastes like elgwan piss,” Kian hissed through his teeth, staving off a full-bodied shudder. 

The festivities had kicked off with a bang, literally. Magical light shows lit the town in vibrant colors. The lights spun and grew into shapes resembling the Draic kin, the Wicker Witch, and western Dolmari folk tales Kian had never heard of. Though he couldn’t necessarily appreciate the references, the artistry was undeniable. Clearly, the sorcerers had practiced their magic for many years, honing it to perfection. It kept the children entertained for quite a while, allowing their weary parents to slip away and grab refreshments. 

Kian had only seen a small part of the settlement before they were ushered into the inn - he hadn’t protested, though. His aching body had been perfectly content to sit and rest rather than explore. What he had seen, though, had been quite charming. In the daylight, Dolmari children played in the streets, flying kites with magical, glowing tails much like the Reapmoon dragons in Marcuria, though much smaller. Traveling merchants rode through the streets on hardy reptilian mounts, offering all manner of trinkets, cure-alls, and staples for sale.

As night fell, the merchants packed up their wares and the children hurried back to their families, preparing for the festival. Bland market stalls transformed into lively, colorful hubs of street food and drink. Magical lanterns floated along the street, lighting the paths. Toasted spices and smoke from the scattered bonfires drifted through the air. The town was abuzz with celebration. 

They meandered through the streets, visiting many stalls to taste local treats and hear several slightly different versions of the same harvest festival folktales, all told under varying levels of intoxication. Some were comprehensible. Most were… less so. While Kian didn’t particularly care for some of the bitter spices the Dolmari seemed to have a penchant for, they had excellent taste in sweets. Likho, on the other hand, seemed to avoid sweets at all costs, sticking to savory street snacks. In that way, they made a perfect match. Of course, despite some of the offerings tasting a little too… _exotic_ for Kian’s palate, he’d still gladly eaten enough food for two grown men over the course of the night. 

Hey, the journey had been long. He hadn’t eaten a full meal in weeks, and not for lack of trying to hunt game. But the western plains were scarce, and that was no coincidence. The Azadi had pushed the Dol-Intiqua out of the more forgiving lands of the northwest. The southwest was nearly barren. It would be fully barren without the touch of magic. Still, hunting was futile, and they could not afford to delay their travel for too long. Winter would be upon them soon. 

The Dol-Intiqua had been incredibly gracious hosts, given everything. Their distrust of him was well-reasoned, and even if they breezily forgave his crimes, they had every reason to refuse his request for aid. Sieging Sadir would be no small feat, and while the Dol-Intiqua might benefit from a peaceful, reformed, diplomatically-amenable Azadir, they had little reason to put their own lives on the line to fight for justice. Their blood had already been spilled, their land had already been taken. Some Dolmari might wish to fight for those things to be restored, but the cost would be high.

Tomorrow, Kian would make his plea to the elders of the Dol-Intiqua clan. A new Azadir - a land with room for humans and magicals alike - a land free from bloodshed and division. It was an ambitious dream, but Kian knew he could make it so as long as he had Likho and Saga by his side. Supposedly, the Balance willed it. Of course, that did not mean that they could simply walk into Sadir and ask the world to bend to their wishes. They would need men, and they would need every tactical advantage that magic could offer. 

Kian had thought deeply about their plan, analyzing the situation from every angle. How would he be preparing if he were in Sadir right now, expecting Kian’s resistance to show up at any moment? If he were an Azadi soldier on the ground, how could he be convinced? Had they quelled the spread of ‘rumors’ of what was really happening in Ge’en? The Azadi in Sadir had not seen the horrors with their own eyes. They would not believe it if the Mother simply said it was untrue. 

Mother Utana… Ge’en had only been one piece in her grand scheme. Kian hardly knew what else her office of Scientific Progress had been up to. Their communications to Ge’en had been fragmented and Kian was not a man accustomed to deciphering their scientific jargon. Ferdows and the others in the resistance had set to work digging through the records they had seized from Ge’en, but so far, they had not discovered any leads. Anna’s network of scouts in Sadir could no longer be trusted - they were under Mother Utana’s thumb. Really, they had very little to go on.

It was a difficult sell. The elders would be reluctant to support such an unsure mission. Luckily, it was not Kian’s mission alone. Likho’s words carried weight. He had earned the respect of the Dol-Intiqua many years ago when he held the line against intruding Azadi forces. Many lives had been lost that day, but enough Dolmari were saved that they had the strength to settle farther south. He was a hero to them then, and even more so now. Liberator of Ge’en, a trusted general of the resistance in Marcuria, and a loyal soldier of the Dol-Intiqua. If Likho, who had sworn in his father’s blood to kill Kian, had been persuaded to join the ex-Apostle on his quest, then perhaps they should too.

It was no sure thing, but strangely, Kian felt optimistic. Ever since that strange business with the Stark girl, their luck had turned for the better. Their path to Sadir was not an easy one by any means, but, but having true friends by his side had made it a nearly enjoyable adventure. Enu could not be with them, but her letters were a constant source of inspiration on the road. Na’ane had stayed with her in Marcuria, and while their relationship remained awkward at the best of times, Kian trusted her to keep the Enclave safe. Saga came and went with the wind, but slowly, they were bonding.

And then there was Likho. 

At every step of his journey, Likho had been at his side. In Marcuria, always with a knife bared at his neck. In Ge’en, watching his back and carrying the fate of thousands of his people on his shoulders. And now, on the road to Sadir, acting as his eyes and ears in a land unknown.

Likho watched amusedly as Kian choked down the ale. It was truly wretched, but he wouldn’t surrender and spit it out. The bitter alcohol stung down his throat. Likho’s smirk was the closest thing he’d ever seen to a full-on smile from the Dolmari. Perhaps, if only for that, ingesting this poison had been work it.

“Too strong for you, Azadi?” Likho teased. “Didn’t think you’d have such a delicate constitution.”

“Sorry, I’m not acclimated to the taste of sewage,” Kian fired back, though his words were probably cheapened by his grimace.

Likho took the mug of ale for himself, adding to the list of horrible drinks he’d repossessed from Kian over the course of the night. Really, on Kian’s rejects alone, Likho must have had at least the equivalent of two tankards of ale already, and yet he seemed thoroughly unaffected. Apparently, he wasn’t kidding about his alcohol tolerance. He was a large man, though, and a seasoned drinker besides.

“Try this,” Likho reached over to the next stand and got a mug from the row, handing it over.

“Is this going to kill me?” Kian asked flatly, “Because if you’ve suddenly decided to renew your oath, I’d prefer your knife.”

“Perhaps I’d rather you suffer,” Likho grunted. “It’s sweet. You’ll like it.”

Understandably, Kian was suspicious. The first ‘refreshment’ (and Kian objected to the definition of that acrid substance as anything refreshing) tasted worse than the acrid oil the Azadi used on their pipes. The next had been just as bad, only a touch more sour. Kian knew that most magical poisons were sweet or tasteless so as not to revolt their drinkers. But he had a hard time trusting that anything that tasted so bad was meant for mortal consumption. However, he had sworn to Likho that he trusted him with his life, and that, he supposed, would have to extend to his stomach as well. The crimson-colored drink Likho handed him smelled deceptively sweet. One point for its likeliness to be poison. Though, admittedly, it would have to be a poison that affected humans only, since many Dolmari seemed to be merrily nursing mugs of the stuff. Unlike the other cool but not cold concoctions, this one was served warm. The night was not terribly cold, but the warmth certainly seemed appealing. Kian took a sip.

The sweet-tart taste elixir hit his tongue in a damnably pleasant way. It warmed his chest as he drank, its heat far more subdued than the sour ale or the spirits before. As he drank, it built into a pleasant burn in his chest, speeding his pulse and leaving his mouth tasting of savory smoke. It tasted magical - literally, like sparks were dancing along his tongue. Kian wondered if the brewer had woven a spell into the drink. Either way, it tasted quite good.

“This is… Surprisingly not bad.” Kian squinted at the stall’s sign, but he could not quite read it from his angle. He took another sip, letting the sweetness linger in his mouth before he swallowed. “What is it?”

“High praise from you.” Likho snorted. “It’s firewine, from the South. Careful. It’s stronger than it tastes.”

“Noted.” Kian stared down at the devilish substance. It appeared innocuous, but Kian was a trained assassin and well-versed in magical concoctions besides. He would not underestimate it.

* * *

Kian had far underestimated the potency of the firewine.

Of course, Likho had kept him close at hand, ensuring he didn’t get too hammered. Likho could tell that Kian was certainly tipsy, but he hadn’t overindulged to the point that he would suffer any real ill effects the next morning, aside from a perhaps a light headache. As nervous as Kian had been in the morning, to Likho, he now seemed much better off. He hadn’t relaxed in months, always preparing to bury his nose in reports on Sadir’s resources or journals on siege tactics. Perhaps Likho was a hypocrite for wishing he would get more rest. So be it.

Likho had to admit that he took a certain pleasure in seeing Kian finally unwind. The tension seemed to drain from his normally rigid stance. His formalities did not cease, but they waned. The firewine loosened his tongue and colored his cheeks as they caroused with the clan’s soldiers. And for all the questions they had about Kian, he bared his soul and his past alike. He was genuine, and it made him all the more irresistible.

The firewine had lowered his inhibitions, but Kian did not say anything stupid. At least, nothing that went noticed through the night. He was still charismatic as ever, if a touch less eloquent and a touch more open with his curses. The soldiers loved him. Doubtless, they had expected a model Azadi bastard: strict, prudish, and weak-boned.

But Kian was none of those things. Everything the ex-Apostle did, he did with his whole heart in the matter. Perhaps his heart used to be in the wrong place, but he had believed in his mission. That made it all the more crushing when his people betrayed him - when his _mother_ , not by blood but by oath - betrayed him and left him to bleed out in that abominable tower.

When he saw the wrongs of his people, difficult as it may have been to stomach, he switched sides. He fought for the magicals with every fiber of his being that had not yet frayed. He risked his life for the very people he used to condemn as savages and monsters. Likho had fallen in love with it - the man Kian was, and all the things he stood for. Now, he laughed with the Dolmari soldiers late into the night, sharing stories and raunchy jokes.

Alcohol did strange things to men. Likho’s chest burned from his own consumption, but not enough to cast a haze over his mind. His senses were still quite sharp - Kian had nothing to fear, Likho would remain vigilant. But the booze had softened the Azadi and the Dol-Intiqua so quickly. Now, in varying stages of drunkenness, it was as if Kian’s past transgressions had been wholly erased by the magic of firewine and stories shared around the campfire.

Perhaps they had been. Kian had proven his honor countless times now - in Marcuria, in Ge’en, and every day on the road since. Likho had feared that the Dol-Intiqua would never be able to accept him, despite his change of alignment, but any reluctance they might have had was easily swept aside with a bit of merrymaking.

And, of course, it was no small thing that Kian had taken to their festivities so eagerly. They expected a contemptuous, rigid Azadi warrior, not a curious, open-minded ally. Kian deserved all the credit for his genuine interest in the Dol-Intiqua and their tradition, but Likho would give himself the credit of keeping Kian at ease throughout the night of bawdy carousing and ‘sorcery’. By the time they had joined the other soldiers with drinks in hand, Kian seemed as comfortable as he had come to be in Marcuria.

“What?!” A rowdy, laughing Dolmari pulled Likho’s attention back to the campfire circle. He had drifted off into his own thoughts several topics ago now, not having had much to say that the Dol-Intiqua did not already know. Kian’s mysteries were prime for the unraveling now, and the Dolmari took full advantage. But Kian seemed to be enjoying himself too, fielding all manner of misconceptions about Azadir. These Dolmari would probably never _like_ the Azadi people, but Likho knew that it was important to Kian that they at least understood that their society was not wholly unredeemable.

“Truly. Nothing in the teachings of the Goddess requires soldiers to stay celibate,” Kian explained, “Azadi aren’t nearly as repressed as you seem to think.”

“Really?” a soldier chuckled, “Could’ve fooled me. Never met one of your people without a stick up his ass.”

“Most Azadi can drink, too, if they please,” Kian said. “Though, the rules for Apostles are different,” he added.

“Different how?”

“Apostles abstain from all mortal indulgences - anything that would compromise our - _their_ \- mission is forbidden. An Apostle is expected to maintain complete focus at all times, or they might lose conviction. If their faith in the Goddess is shaken, then they cannot… convert their targets.”

‘Convert’, he said. What he _meant_ was ‘kill’. Kian had explained it to him once, but they had never spoken of it since. The Azadi had truly conditioned him to believe that by killing dissidents, they would find glory and blessings in their next life, so long as his belief was unquestioning. 

Likho wanted to scoff at the thought. He wanted to berate Kian for believing something so preposterous. But really, could he? Those who indoctrinated Kian also picked him up off the streets and gave him a home. The reigning Azadi became closer than his own family. Of course he would not question them.

He was a different man now. Or the same man, but walking with eyes open.

“So you’re a virgin, then?” the soldier asked.

“No, no.” Kian chuckled.

Wait...

Wait, _what_?

Likho must have voiced his astonishment aloud because Kian quickly turned to him with a smug smirk.

“Is it really that shocking?” Kian asked, cocking an eyebrow. 

“Yes?” Likho rebutted, though his tone was still one of sheer bewilderment. Imagining Kian as anything less than utterly sheltered in the realm of carnal matters was simply impossible. Kian’s slate-blue eyes glittered with amusement and his pretty lips curled into a grin. 

“Well, I’m not,” he shrugged, feigning aloofness like he had not just turned Likho’s world upside down, then set it aflame. “I was a soldier before I was an Apostle. I lived by no such restrictions then. Or now.”

“Hm.” Likho grunted. He did not care. He had no reason to care. He was just surprised, that was all. It was strange to think that Kian had… Kian was pure, proper, and innocent, at least when it came to the world’s vices. It was a given - an _axiom_. Likho stared at the Azadi as firelight danced off his form. Was he really…? No - _Balance_ \- Likho shouldn’t even be thinking about such things. It was hardly his business. Despite his own feelings, Kian had never shown any interest in him. Of course, Kian showed little interest in anything that could be considered rest or relaxation these days. The resistance took most of his time and energy. ...But if Kian did feel anything towards him, he would know.

Wouldn’t he?

“So is it true that Azadi women fuck their men, not the other way round?” one of the soldiers butted in, stirring a hearty laugh from the circle.

“Do your mistresses not do the same?” Kian joked, “You men are missing out.”

* * *

“That was… surprisingly enjoyable.” Kian admitted as they walked back into the inn. Well, Likho walked, supporting Kian on his shoulder as he swayed. The Azadi was not quite too drunk to walk, but not sober enough to find his way back without getting caught up in the night’s distractions, either. Though, the celebrations were winding down. The night was late, though the most devout of partiers would stay out until the sun began to rise.

“Good,” he grunted. Though Likho suspected he wouldn’t see Kian touch alcohol again any time soon, he had enjoyed the relaxed, open Kian that the firewine brought to the forefront. He was not a different man, simply more… More _Kian_ , less resistance.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Kian asked as he clumsily climbed the stairs to their inn room.

“I did.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“It’s difficult to tell with you, you know,” the Azadi said, slurring ever so slightly. He reached the top of the steps with no small amount of effort. It was merely a flight of stairs, but the heavy booze in Kian’s muscles must have made it seem like a treacherous mountain rather than a glorified wooden triangle. “You never smile.”

“I smile when I feel like smiling,” Likho countered.

“Hmph. If you were really enjoying yourself, you’d feel like smiling more.” Kian fumbled with the key to his inn room, not managing to align it properly with the lock. “Was it what I said earlier about not being a virgin? Because-”

“Go to sleep, Kian,” Likho growled, but his tone did not match his actions. He gently took the key from Kian’s hands and unlocked the door to his room. “Drink some water. Helps with the hangover.”

“Yes, yes, fine.” Kian waved his hand. Volume-wise, the Azadi may not have had much to drink, but firewine was potent, and Kian had no tolerance to speak of. Likho wasn’t going to let all his efforts getting Kian to unwind be wiped away by a brutal hangover. And besides that, they would meet with the elders tomorrow. Likho hesitated on which seemed more important. Even after his door had been unlocked, Kian lingered in the doorway for a long moment.

“What.” Likho said flatly, narrowing his eyes.

“What?” Kian asked, eyes snapping back to Likho like his mind had been elsewhere entirely

“You - never mind.” Likho sighed and turned to leave. “Nothing. Sleep.”

“Likho…” Kian whispered. Oh, so _now_ he wanted to explain his loitering. Fine.

“ _What_?” Likho asked again, nearing his wit’s end. He turned to face the Azadi again.

Instantly, a softness overtook him as Kian’s lips found his own in a gentle kiss. It was like an explosion. Not of magic, but of feelings. Of senses that Likho had not honed. Of intimacy he had never practiced. Kian’s stubble scratched against his cheek. Likho could still taste the spices and smoky-sweet wine on his lips. Likho clumsily kissed back, allowing Kian to lead him as the kiss grew urgent. Shit... Kian’s questing hands found the collar of his breastplate, pulling him into a close embrace.

“Thank you, Likho,” Kian whispered, pulling away only far enough to break for air. “Thank you for showing me your people - and for looking after me tonight.”

“I keep my oaths,” Likho muttered dumbly. He was still in shock. His body may have caught up to Kian’s touch, but his mind lagged behind. Had Kian known of Likho’s feelings? How long had he felt the same? Did he even feel the same, or was this just… Was this just the firewine racing in his blood?

“It’s a cold night...” Kian lied. It was late autumn. The nights would soon grow much colder than this.

Kian’s hands settled on the front of Likho’s leather breastplate, lingering. Just as he lingered at the threshold of his room. His breath trembled and his slate eyes darkened with lust. It was an invitation, and _Balance_ , Likho wanted to take it. Months of traveling on the road, without any release, without any reprieve from Kian slithering into his thoughts, had wound Likho into a tight knot of pent-up desire. 

And Kian was _desirable_. If an Azadi claimed that their Goddess herself had sculpted Kian from the western sands of their shared homeland, Likho would believe it. Dark ink and silver scars decorated his burnished bronze skin - reminders of the oaths he had sworn and the lives he had saved by breaking them. His light eyes pierced through Likho’s rough skin, sending a jolt of energy racing under his skin when he fixed them directly on the Dolmari. He was a powerful man, and not just physically. He was a naturally soft-spoken man, though the responsibilities of leading the resistance had demanded him become a charismatic leader. Though, there was a reason men listened to him. Sometimes, his words left Likho spellbound. So when Kian offered himself...

Likho was only a mortal man. But he kept his oaths.

“Sleep, Kian,” he managed to say, pulling away from Kian’s tempting arms. “There’ll be plenty of cold nights when you’re sober.”

“I see…” he murmured, letting his hands drop to his sides. “Goodnight, Likho.” He slipped into his inn room, turning away before Likho could read his expression. Likho still lingered in the hallway as the door quietly shut. He walked to his own room, head still spinning.

Kian had kissed him. Kian had _propositioned_ him. Kian, it would seem, had feelings for him, despite all odds. Maybe all that would change by the morning, but until then, Likho could not stop thinking about the feeling of Kian’s lips over his. Even as he lay still in his bed, his mind kept grasping at the memory of Kian’s touch. It was like a ghost of a doused flame - only smoke and ember, not its true heat. He fuzzily remembered the feel of Kian’s sword-weathered hands, but not their warmth. He remembered the sweetness of the firewine on Kian’s tongue, but not its complex taste. It was infuriating. His mind kept chasing the memory, wishing to be satisfied with only that, but it was not enough. Balance…

Likho eventually drifted off, but even in his dreams, he could not escape his thoughts of Kian. Only there, in his fantasies, he did not stop at a single kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Not that there's a prime crop of Dreamfall content to rt, but I'm on Twitter :) Come say hi and pelt me with headcanons if you're into that kind of thing.  
> [@hanatamagos](https://twitter.com/hanatamagos)


End file.
